If the world was the size of a penny,
a dollar would be my thoughts.
A silver coin forged in fire from scolding that's always scaulding hot.
Like a spider who cannot spin web,
I'm given a ball of twine.
Equipped with confusion and creativity, I weave a stronger web-like mind.
Under vulnerable exposure
I am like a cheetah without spots.
Mixing ink from my fear and pain to paint myself in polka-dots.
My missing words hang in the air
like wood and winded chimes.
Missing points and memories just because they slip my mind.
If the world was the size of a penny
I'd have a penny for my thoughts.
I'd spend it on complete sentences,
some extra twine,
and spots.
Looking for a shred of understanding.